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333 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 25, 2025
I cannot talk about without spoiling it so don't read this next bit: I loved it!
Beatrice had been raised in Parsippany, New Jersey, and attended public schools but had reinvented herself as a perpetually disappointed distant-royal-relation making do in a Kensington bedsit. Beatrice, born Tiffaneigh-Carla, never disowned her tristate history, but since childhood she had swooned over silk scarves printed with horse bits and stirrups, fine leather goods, teabags in Wedgwood canisters, any BBC show with liveried footmen, arcane spellings of colour and honour, and the needless use of a Malacca cane.(This goes on for another page or so, and then Beatrice is never heard from again.) Rudnick can also be mean-spirited and tone-deaf, as when he lists the alleged college majors considered by the sensitivity associate at the MC's publishing house (Beyond Queer Allyship; Reliving Trauma Through Musical Theater; Thwarted Careerism Among Female Cave Artists; Fascism and Badminton; Eleanor Roosevelt and the Tyranny of Hats; and Emerging Voices in Your Room). Ba-dum-tssh.